


gratitude

by rhysgore



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Eye Gouging, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Skull Fucking, Whump, lord help me but im back on my bullshit, orbital creampie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: “Do you know Exodus 21:24?”-in which jacob's punishment for traitors is more visceral and self-serving





	gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> [looking at canon unhealthy power dynamic] mama mia... here i go again.....

When he finds out the Deputy has escaped from capture once again, Jacob is, predictably, angry. 

 

He doesn’t get angry like his siblings- no threats of retribution, divine or personal retribution. His voice doesn’t even raise above its usual low, slightly growling cadence; but when he finds Staci collapsed on the ground near the open window and immediately connects the few, obvious dots, it’s no less terrifying. There’s a muscle twitch in his jaw, one that he smooths out as he grabs his remaining captive by the shirt collar, hauling Staci ungracefully to his feet.

 

“You helped her out,” he says, voice soft and dangerous. It isn’t a question- who else would even  _ think  _ about doing something so completely fucking stupid? Who else would have the ability?

 

Still, Staci’s response is automatic. “Yes, sir,” he says. Jacob looks him up and down. He’s careful to keep his emotions in check, but even that can’t prevent a mixture of disgust and disappointment from seeping through, flaring his nostrils and curling his upper lip. His fingers tighten their grip on Staci’s shirt, pulling so he has no choice but to get closer.

 

“You disobeyed me,” Jacob says. It cuts deeper than he’d anticipated, the idea that what he’d done had  _ disappointed  _ Jacob like a slap across the face. 

 

“Y-yes, sir.” His knees are trembling, and the only thing keeping Staci’s legs from collapsing is the knowledge that Jacob would probably let him choke on his own shirt if he did.

 

Jacob pulls him closer, looking at him, and Staci considers how delicate his neck is- how easily his windpipe would crush under Jacob’s terrifyingly strong, unforgiving grip. If Jacob was merciful enough to kill him that quickly, rather than just slowly choke him out until Staci is borderline braindead and begging for him to end it.

 

“I should kill you for that,” Jacob mutters, as if he’s reading Staci’s mind. It almost sounds like he’s talking to himself, thinking over his options. Maybe considering the most painful, unpleasant way to do it. 

 

The hand that isn’t half-strangling Staci twitches towards the handle of his sheathed hunting knife, then stills. Staci gulps, his throat rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric of his shirt before Jacob lets him go, tossing him to the ground where he lands painfully on his knees. 

 

“But you don’t  _ deserve  _ that. Death would be a mercy for scum like you.” The words are a disdainful sneer, and Staci shrinks back, wincing. “I’ll just have to figure out some other, more  _ suitable  _ punishment.”

 

-

 

The room is dark, a single harsh, bare bulb the only source of light. There’s a camera on a tripod set up about ten feet away, and the fact that it’s pointed right at him makes Staci more afraid than the restraints holding his arms and legs to the chair underneath him do. He doesn’t struggle- it wouldn’t accomplish anything besides making him more uncomfortable. Instead, his eyes follow Jacob around the room, flickering and afraid as he prepares for the worst.

 

No music- whatever Jacob has decided on for punishment, he wants Staci there and with him entirely. No escape.

 

“The original Judas committed suicide,” Jacob is saying. He had been pacing back and forth, but he stops and looks into the camera as he speaks, voice low and measured. “He tried to give the money back to the Romans, but it was too late. Ashamed of what he’d done, he hung himself.” He turns away from the camera and gestures in Staci’s direction. “Even if I believed  _ this  _ Judas had an ounce of contrition in his sorry body for betraying us, he doesn’t deserve the mercy of being able to choose how, where, and when to die. No…”

 

Lip service to the religious aspect of Eden’s Gate. Staci doesn’t claim to be an expert on Jacob, but he knows enough to know that he’s full of shit. Putting on a show for his brothers, for the devotees who will inevitably watch the recording and see  _ whatever  _ it is he plans to do.

 

There’s a whisper-soft noise as Jacob draws his knife from its sheath, turning it over and over between his thick, scarred fingers as he steps over to the chair. This time, Staci  _ does  _ struggle a little. It’s instinctual, the urge to get away from something that wants to hurt him.

 

“No, you don’t deserve something so clean. And I’ve always been a bigger fan of Old Testament justice myself.” He places a hand on Staci’s shoulder, easily pinning him in place, reducing his squirming to just the frantic shaking of his head, the trembling of his legs. “Do you know Exodus 21:24?”

 

“No, no-”

 

“You don’t? That’s alright.” Jacob chuckles, softly. “You’ve still heard the expression ‘an eye for an eye’, haven’t you? I’ve always preferred a more  _ literal  _ interpretation.”

 

It happens so fast that Staci doesn’t register it at first. Doesn’t realize where Jacob sticks the knife until he blinks, and it’s suddenly as if someone is tearing his face in half, splitting his skull down a messy, jagged fault line that goes straight through his right eye. He opens his mouth, and the sound that comes out is barely human, a horrific, nails-on-chalkboard shriek of fear and shock and  _ agony  _ like he’s never felt before.

 

“Hold still, or it’s going to be more than just the eye,” Jacob says.

 

Staci only hears him a little, but his muscles still do their best to lock up as Jacob fucking carves a hole in his face. He can’t- he can’t  _ see.  _ Half of what’s in front of him is a fuzzy black void, and the other half is Jacob, blood-spattered and serene as he cuts out Staci’s fucking eye. Smiling like the sick fuck he is, humming softly, a tune that Staci can’t hear over the sound of his own screaming. The blade bites into the thin skin of his eyelid as it pulls across, severing blood vessels and nerves alike, and Staci can’t tell if the wetness on his cheeks is him crying, or bleeding, or both.

 

“Almost there.” Jacob’s rough, calloused hand pets his cheek. Staci hates the way it comforts him. It’s less a lifeline and more of a straw to grasp at, but grasp he does, leaning into the touch as much as the knife still stuck in his eye socket allows. His breath is harsh and shallow, his face is a throbbing, godawful mess, and he thinks he might have pissed himself, the acrid, unpleasant smell only just noticeable against the iron tang of blood. 

 

His screams slowly die down. The pain isn’t getting any worse at this point, and all he’s doing is hurting his throat. He sobs instead, soft and pathetic in a way Jacob probably hates, which makes Staci hate himself for being unable to stop. He wishes Jacob would cut faster, end it already, but- as the blinking red light on the camera reminds him- just hurting him isn’t the point of this. He’s an  _ example. _ The video of him crying and screaming and pissing himself as his eye gets carved out of his fucking face is going to be played anywhere in the mountains that there’s a television, as a reminder to peggies and resistance alike of what happens when you piss off Jacob Seed.

 

Even when the knife is pulled out of him, it isn’t over. Jacob reaches towards his bloody cheek, and it isn’t until he  _ tugs  _ that Staci realizes his eye is still connected to him by the last threads of his optic nerve, dangling wetly against his face. Another stroke, and it’s cut completely out. Jacob dangles it in front of him, a pulpy white mess that barely resembles anything anymore, and Staci can barely keep himself from vomiting. 

 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Took it like a big boy.” It’s the final insult, that the praise, mocking and derisive as it is, makes Staci feel genuinely like he’s done something  _ right.  _ His head slumps forwards as Jacob turns away, holding up the severed eyeball to make sure the camera catches it.

 

“This is his punishment,” he starts. He isn’t nearly as theatrical about it as his younger siblings- entirely matter-of-fact as he presents Staci’s mutilation to what will undoubtedly be a captive, terrified audience. “This is how I deal with  _ traitors. _ An eye for an eye.” Stepping towards him again, Jacob lifts Staci’s chin with two fingers, forcing him to look- as much as he currently can- into the camera. “Do you feel like you’ve gotten what you deserve?”

 

His face throbs. Weeks ago- months ago, however long ago he was still a  _ person  _ and not a barely-surviving person-shaped punching bag, Staci would have told Jacob to go fuck himself, and damn the consequences. Now, though…

 

“Yes,” he mutters, gaze lowering in shame. “Yes, I have.”

 

-

 

Jacob still keeps him around, which is far more than Staci expects. He walks a few steps behind, bound to Jacob by a chain attached to his handcuffs. When his lack of depth perception invariably makes him trip and fall, Jacob doesn’t wait for him to get up, dragging him through the mud, or over concrete, or grass, or whatever happens to beneath their feet at the time. Treating him like the dead weight he is.

 

At first, Staci doesn’t understand why Jacob bothers. His purpose is as it always was- something live and wriggling to lure the Deputy in- but to that end, Jacob could just lock him away in a cell somewhere and forget about him. 

 

But he doesn’t.

 

Staci almost thinks he would prefer the cell to the uncertainty of not knowing what Jacob wants.

 

It isn’t until a week later that he finally finds out. They’re in his office, and Jacob beckons him closer with a finger and a grin that makes Staci not want to get anywhere near him. It isn’t like he has a choice, though, something that’s made abundantly clear to him when he hesitates, and Jacob yanks the chain, sending Staci crashing to the ground. He lands on his knees at Jacob’s feet.

 

“Look at me,” Jacob says, and Staci raises his head as much as he can without it being painful. Leaning down just slightly, Jacob’s fingers move towards his empty eye socket, probing the jagged, messily healing edge where his eyelid once was. It’s unnerving- Staci can see Jacob’s hand on him, but he can’t  _ feel  _ it. “You’re healing well. No infections or anything. Good.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” He genuinely isn’t sure whether it’s a compliment or not.

 

Jacob chuckles softly. “It’s about the only way you haven’t disappointed me,” he says. The words are like a slap in the face, and Staci feels himself flinch. “Weak, traitorous, but at least you won’t die on me before she comes to save you. That’s about all you’re good for- live bait.”

 

It hurts. Staci feels his stomach churn, nausea building, and loathes himself for it. Jacob has done nothing but torture and humiliate him since he was dragged out of that helicopter, and yet-

 

He can’t stop himself from wanting to do better. To  _ be  _ better. 

 

There’s something dripping down his cheek, and to his shame, Staci realizes he’s crying again. 

 

“I wanted to slice open your belly instead of your face. You should consider yourself grateful that I didn’t allow the Judges to eat you alive, entrails first.” Jacob’s forefinger taps at his exposed sphenoid bone. No nerves there- Staci can’t feel it, save for an odd, uncomfortable thrum that rattles his entire head. “You’re only alive because you’re important to  _ her. _ Other than that, you’re almost useless to me.”

 

If anyone could kill Jacob, it was her. The Deputy had already been strong, and the training had only made her stronger. She deserved her freedom. He- pathetic, weak, groveling- he deserves to be here, on his knees. 

 

He’d always been messy when he cried, but it had only gotten worse while he’d been in Jacob’s care. His shoulders shake, ugly, broken noises escaping him as he breaks down into sobs.

 

Jacob grips his chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing Staci to look at him again. His expression is one of contempt- and Staci can’t particularly blame him- but there’s something else in it. Cold and calculating. Assessing Staci for his value, looking for  _ something.  _ It isn’t much but it might- it might be a chance.

 

A stronger man wouldn’t cry at being told he was useless. A stronger man would find some way to make himself indispensable, even if it’s humiliating. Even if it’s debasing.

 

Fear overpowers dignity, makes him shuffle forwards on his knees, cuffed hands reaching out to clutch desperately at Jacob’s pants.

 

“You- you said  _ almost  _ useless,” he says, forcing himself to continue to look Jacob in the eyes.

 

“I did,” Jacob replies. He doesn’t say anything else, putting the onus on Staci to continue. 

 

“I-“ Staci falters. He’s not exactly sure what the protocol is, here- how exactly  _ does _ one go about propositioning their captor in the hopes that it’ll keep them alive for another day? His fingers tighten their grip in the fabric underneath them, grounding him in the moment. “I can-“

 

When the words won’t come out of his mouth, Jacob tuts, softly, and strokes the side of his face. 

 

“You want to suck my dick? Is that it?” He asks. Staci swallows, nods. “You think that makes you useful to me? Hate to make you jealous, but there isn’t exactly a shortage of people around here who are ready, willing, and able to do the exact same, and most of them  _ didn’t _ backstab me the moment they had half a chance.” The reminder of his transgressions makes Staci flinch, face coloring in shame. “What can you do that they can’t?”

 

“I… I don’t know, sir.”

 

“Come on,” Jacob chides. “Think about it.”

 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Jacob could possibly mean until the hand petting his face pauses, pressed against his temple. Jacob’s thumb rubs against the rim of his eye socket, and there’s a terrible moment of clarity as he understands just what it is that Jacob wants from him. 

 

“Do you want to-” Staci swallows. He has to pause before he gets the next part of the sentence out, feeling slightly nauseous as he forces himself to continue. “Fuck my eye.”

 

Jacob makes a sound, a pleased hum in the back of his throat, and despite himself, Staci shivers with it. Proof that he’s done  _ something  _ right. Proof that Jacob isn’t about to make sausage out of him. One or the other- he doesn’t want to think too much about which it is. 

 

“Bingo. See, you got it.”

 

Jacob undoes his pants slowly, making a show of it as he slides them just far enough down his hips to get his cock out. This part, Staci can handle. It’s just a dick, and he’s seen plenty of them. Circumcised, a little bigger than average, maybe, but still just a dick. What he can’t handle, what he’s never even had a reason to suspect he would  _ have  _ to handle, is Jacob’s hand on his jaw, pulling him closer, until the fat, leaking tip of his cock is rubbing against Staci’s cheek, leaving a trail of wet.

 

“There we go. Stay still now- yeah, just like that…”

 

In his time with Jacob, he’s seen people skinned alive. Burned alive. He’s seen men get their bellies sliced open, have their intestines nailed to trees, and be forced to run until they disemboweled themselves. He’s seen every awful, depraved thing one person can do to another, and after that, he assumed there was nothing more that could disgust him, but the feeling of Jacob pushing the head of his cock into his empty eye socket proves him wrong once again. It isn’t a particularly accommodating orifice, shallow and only barely wide enough to fit  _ anything, _ but Jacob forces himself as deep as he can, and it  _ hurts.  _ Everything that had been healing is torn apart again all at once, sensitive skin and blood vessels and nerves splitting, and it takes everything in Staci’s power to keep himself from screaming, digging his fingers desperately into the fabric of Jacob’s pants. It feels like his skull is being scraped out from the inside with sandpaper, and it only gets worse when Jacob moves, pulling and pushing as much as he’s physically capable of.

 

He doesn’t scream, but he keeps crying, shoulders shaking and remaining eye clouding up. Between tight snaps of his hips, Jacob shushes him, wiping away his tears with a thumb.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you wanted to live. To be useful to me.” His voice is heavy and thick with arousal, and Staci wants to vomit. “I don’t give just anyone a second chance like this, so how about showing a little gratitude. A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

 

To compensate for not having enough room to truly fuck Staci’s eye socket, Jacob’s other hand is wrapped around his cock, and he’s stroking himself steadily. Staci can just barely make out the fact that his fingers and cock are both stained red. It isn’t surprising- his cheek is warm with the blood that’s dripping from his aggravated wounds, but the fact remains that Jacob is jerking himself off inside of Staci’s _ eye,  _ and he wants-

 

“T-thank you,” Staci says, and it feels like the floodgates have been opened. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

 

“Thank you for what?” Jacob asks.

 

“Thank you f-for letting me- live.” The words are messy and embarrassing, but Staci can’t  _ stop  _ them, can’t stop the overwhelming flood of relief he feels at finally giving voice to them. Jacob has been nothing but terrible to him, but now- now, he’s being kind. He’s more than earned the gratitude that he expects Staci to show him. “T-thank you for- for fucking my eye.”

 

“Good boy,” Jacob murmurs _ ,  _ and it has to be on purpose, he has to know what his words are doing, how the praise makes Staci  _ want  _ in some sickening, horrible way. His hand squeezes his shaft, striping over the stiff, ruddy length. “You aren’t hopeless. Not- totally- worthless-  _ shit-“ _

 

He swears, loudly, hips shaking. His hand grips Staci’s jaw, short, blunt nails digging in, and Staci feels  _ something,  _ warm and wet inside of him where it absolutely should not be.

 

Jacob- Jacob  _ came inside of his fucking skull.  _ When he pulls out, it sluices out of the empty cavity, down his bloody cheek, thick and viscous. Staci releases his death grip on Jacob’s trousers, and slumps backwards.

 

“Look at me,” Jacob says, and Staci tilts his head up obediently. Jacob grabs him by the chin, moving his head back and forth, and Staci moves with him, trying to tamp down the swell of pride that Jacob’s pleased hum makes him feel. “You look much better like this, Pratt. Pretty as a picture.” 

 

Cowed and beaten and submissive. A thumb swipes over his cheek before pressing against Staci’s lips, and he doesn’t resist, opening his mouth, lapping Jacob’s cum off of thick fingers. He can taste the strong, iron tang of his own blood underneath the salt.

 

Jacob smiles at him. It’s still razor-sharp, but far less predatory, far less terrifying than before, and Staci isn’t sure if it’s the afterglow, or something else.

 

“Much better behaved, too,” he says, chuckling as he pulls his fingers out, pulls away far enough to tuck his soft cock back into his fatigues. It’s sticky with Staci’s blood, but he doesn’t seem to mind, buttoning up as casually as if nothing had happened between them. “I haven’t forgiven you yet. But you’ve proven you have some use, at least.” He crouches down, coming to eye level with Staci. “Now- what do we say?”

 

The words hurt almost as much as anything Jacob has done to him so far. Almost.

 

“Thank you,” he says. “Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/maverickminuano)


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